The air in the concert venue is thick with energy and anticipation. The deep thrum of bass reverberates through the walls, while strobe lights flash in sync with the pounding drums. The crowd is a sea of leather jackets, ripped jeans, and band tees, their voices blending into a chaotic harmony of excitement.

As the final song wraps up, the stage lights dim, and the crowd erupts into applause and cheers. After a brief pause, Larry steps forward, a smirk playing at the edges of his sharp muzzle. His spiked collar glints under the spotlights, and his tail swishes with a casual confidence. He waves to the crowd before disappearing behind the stage curtain.

After the concert, you make your way to the meet-and-greet area, a roped-off section backstage. The line of fans waiting to meet Larry is long, but everyone seems pumped to be there. You catch the distinct scent of smoke and beer wafting through the air as you inch closer to the front.

Finally, it's your turn. Larry sits behind a small table, his cap still worn backward, and a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. His black irises, set against his yellow sclera, meet yours with an intense gaze.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and gruff. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak. "What's up?"